Wooing a Killer
by Synferi
Summary: Returning from his mission,Cyroth is a changed man. When he encounters an old friend will he learn to forget his past and move on? -this will turn into a full pledged story, but for now it's a oneshot.


Wooing a Killer

The night was only waking.

The smell of burning wood filled his senses. It was a sensual scent, mixed with a chalky pepper and the murky mists that covered the nearby brook. He closed his eyes briefly while he took a deep breath of the familiar scent, momentarily forgetting about his mumbling friend.

"Cyroth?"

He glanced over at the other assassin who had a knowing smile plastered on his face. Cyroth removed his hood and ran a hand through his dark hair looking away with a brief smile.

"Where does Master Keilan think you are this time?" his friend repeated, slower as though the Saracen would pick up on it. He couldn't quite place it, but Cyroth just seemed different since his arrival; almost like he was at odds with himself. The once outspoken and mischievous apprentice had been replaced with a solemn, quiet man, who made little eye contact.

Cyroth was silent, looking anywhere but at his friend. Feeling the awkwardness settle in between them with his lack of response, he felt obligated to at least say something; anything to ease the tension.

He spoke softly, inattentively rubbing his eye with one hand, almost a nervous trait he had picked up on, "I am no longer his apprentice, it matters not where I find myself anymore."

"After so many years of his teachings, I think you're right." His friend laughed, "But I'd say I think you earned a night of dance and drink this time around. Indeed."

And indeed he had.

Cyroth had vowed his service to protect Albion against the foes of Midgard and Hibernia; and at many expenses, he had done such.

And so, after leaving their horses to a trusty stable master, Cyroth found himself following his old friend down the familiar pathway where he could see the bon fire through the trees and hear the laughs and music of his kin, the rusty smell assaulting his senses.

"Everyone will be glad to see you." Thalioneru said, giving Cyroth a cheeky grin. "And in everyone, I mean the ladies. Surely they will welcome back the notorious bachelor with open arms and legs."

Cyroth smiled, uncomfortable with the thought of having maiden after maiden pursing him with their tricky seduction. Before the wars he was renowned for his ways with the ladies, but now, feeling so at odds with himself, he felt no desire to flirt and trade words of endearments. Make no mistakes, female companionship was luring as ever- Cyroth longed to find the comfort and completeness in another. Yet he felt this invisible barrier, this sick awkwardness that made him feel distant and detached. He wasn't sure how to make conversation anymore, and instead, avoided it at all cost.

At their arrival, there was a series of cheers and hellos. Before Cyroth knew it, he was seated before the burning embers with a glass of wine shoved in one hand and a handful of grapes in the other. He wasn't surprised when a pretty little number was right on his side in a mere instant. She was bashfully smiling at him, with her hand casually on his knee tracing a pattern Cyroth knew too well. It was a fine line between lust and adoration.

He swallowed softly, taking a sip of the burning wine that only seemed to create a sense of buzz in his head. The heat of the fire licked his skin; he felt as the though the air was stuffy, and the loudness of the dancing and laughing made him feel irritable.

"It is so good to see you again, m'lord DeOloth." She began, slowly, with a deep and hopeful voice. Her hand on his knee traced an encouraging line closer to his inner thigh. "Surely, you must be glad to be home." She gave a soft squeeze and lifted a brow in a peculiar arch.

He nodded with a polite smile but popped a grape in his mouth to avoid having to trade any words with her. She continued to ramble on, but he could only close his eyes and try with all his might to ignore her touch which made him feel violated.

"Cyroth?" He looked over at her, aware that he was probably expected to answer something that she had asked him.

Unsure what to do, he merely smiled as gently as he could, causing the vixen to laugh and flip her hair over her shoulder suggestively. "My, you haven't changed a bit."

But then her smiles became all too evocative. An arched brow, a lingering touch, her breath on his neck; it was all simply too much for him.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, standing up abruptly. "Milady," he added after a moment. At her confused smirk he said hoarsely, "I think I need some fresh air. Excuse me."

She laughed as he pulled away from her, commenting how they were outdoors for goodness sake. It wasn't the air that heated up.

He made his way to the outer rim of the circle, where the laughter and music dimmed. The fire lost it's warmth to the outer ring, yet still flicked its dimming light to create strange shadows across the trees.

Finally he could take a deep breath and actually let the air fill his lungs. He felt thankful for the rich soil beneath his feet, the small breeze which seemed to have mercy on him. The forest was a true comfort, but from what? He wasn't sure, he thought absently. He leaned against a trunk and smiled gratefully when he saw a patch of open sky through the trees where several stars twinkled, and just below those stars lay the high walls of Camelot itself.

"I think that is the first genuine smile I've seen all night from you."

Cyroth glanced to his right; surprised that he hadn't noticed the little maiden leaning against another tree, sitting with her legs lazily sprawled out before her. She had dark hair, black like the night; her skin glowed with the dim light from the fire. Something about her was familiar but he couldn't quite place it. She gestured to the spot next to her, watching with amusement as he hesitantly took a seat.

"For an assassin you strangely look out of place in the dark." She said carefully, observing the reserved way he held himself, biting her lower lip.

"You don't seem anymore in place than I do." He found himself saying defensively, feeling an odd sensation come over him at hearing his own voice sounding so dull. When had he become such a bore?

"Indeed?" She laughed softly and pulled her knees up. She then made a sour look and nodded her head in the direction of the partiers, "I don't enjoy these merry making events."

He swallowed softly, taking a deep breath before pulling his own knees to his chest. When it was apparent that she wasn't going to explain why, he asked, "Why have you come?"

She shrugged and pushed a few strands of hair aside. "Probably the same reason why you came."

She glanced away from him and instead fixed her eyes on the small opening of dark blue sky. He watched as the light from the fire painted shadows on her face, flickering every so slightly. Her eyes were dark and held nothing unique other than a sense of longing, and at closer inspection he decided that her hair was a dark brown, like the earth, instead of a black as he first thought. Something was familiar, and it unnerved him that he couldn't place it. She was quite beautiful and he was surprised that he didn't recognize her.

After a moment of silence she said softly, "You do not remember me, do you, my lord?"

So he had known her. She sighed every so gracefully and said with a dismissive wave, "I wouldn't have expected you to. I was barely of age when you left."

"You are very pretty." He said oddly, strangely out of context. "I would have remembered you." She seemed unfazed by it and laughed beautifully, surprising him with her reaction.

"Indeed?" She laughed, "Is that why my brother and you always referred to me as the little troll princess?"

Surprise crossed his features as he took in the pretty maiden who claimed to be the little runt that used to follow him and his friends around the archery and training fields. The little runt indeed was graced with the title, but always in good love.

"You jest."

"Nay, I do not." She retorted, amused when he tried to observe her discreetly, as though he was looking for anything that resembled the awkward young maiden who had yet to grow into her looks.

"Sen..teehr?" he whispered, making her heart skip a beat involuntarily. She couldn't remember him ever saying her name, and she was oddly pleased when he did. Finally, he crossed his arms and leaned back with his eyebrows knitted together in a thoughtful gesture. "You cannot possibly be the same little runt."

"Well, when you put it that way-"

"Where are your freckles?" He asked, interrupting her. Indeed, where were her freckles? She was related to Haldane McClung through a complex web of relations, inheriting a good amount of Highlander blood, and uncommonly enough, freckles, which Cyroth always found adorable on the little girl.

"Has your eyesight dimmed on your journey" she said surprisingly tersely, "or are you being polite in pretending not to notice the little spots that tarnish my face?" Ah yes, she had always been sensitive concerning the darker browns marks. He leaned closer to inspect, and indeed there were a few freckles scatter across her nose and cheekbones. Without realizing he was breaking out of his shell, he reached up and traced the little dots.

"Brown stars, remember?" He asked, with a gentle look. Then, seeing her intense gaze he pulled his hand back, looking away, softly swallowing, "I use to call them brown stars."

"I remember." She said gently, softening as she realized that indeed, the assassin had changed on his journey. She yearned to comfort the dear man whom she held in the highest respect- in truth, her young girlish years had been spent fawning over him. But now, as a woman, she merely saw a struggling killer, perplexed with himself. She then reached for his hand, ignoring his discomfort, and folded it in her lap. "I am glad you are back, my friend."

He nodded, unsure what to say. He was thankful though when she didn't seem to expect him to respond. She seemed to understand his state of mind.

"My brother," she began after a moment, "He would have been glad to see you return too." She glanced back at the stars and Cyroth could sense a deep void about her, a hidden sadness that she kept close to herself. "He is gone, I am afraid."

She bit her lower lip, taking in a deep breath before giving him a weak smile.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"He was sent on a routine patrol but there was an attack." She shrugged ever so slightly, "Things happen. Mistakes happen. I understand this."

"I'm sorry." he offered, feeling lame with the dull sound of his voice.

"Why?" She squeezed his hand but he thought it was more for her own reassurance. "He will be reborn, live under the stars again, he was a good brother and son."

"A good friend," Cyroth added, brushing his thumb across her knuckles, "And what of your parents?"

"South." She whispered, briefly closing her eyes before giving him yet another weak smile. "They went South. My father felt the need to return to the old lands, I stayed," she let go of his hand and instead wrapped her arms around her knees, tighter than she had before. "There is so much I want to go and see."

Ah, he remembered the feeling. "Have you looked?"

She gave him a sour look, "I work as a stable hand to earn my keep, and I don't know if I will ever get to go. But I dream of it nonetheless."

"What do you dream of?"

She looked off with a distant look, a sad smile on her face, "Mountains, rivers, trees as high as the sky. They say the trees in the Campacorentin Forest reach the clouds," she glanced over at him a curious smile, "You have seen the woods on your travels, is what they say true?"

"They brush the very stars," he said amused, feeling the corner of his lips curling.

"I bet it is all very pretty. Perhaps one day I will see these woods."

"Someday you will. I will take you." He was surprised at his own offer, but was even more shocked to realize that he meant every word.

"Promise?"

He nodded and smiled.

She regarded him carefully. He swallowed and suddenly looked away, uncomfortable with her intent gaze. "What haunts you, my friend? You smile, but I am not fooled."

Cyroth closed his eyes, irritated that someone could see past his image. A mere girl no less. He was comfortable with the walls that he set up. Walls that he didn't feel like tearing down at the moment. But he knew they were walls that had to come down sometime.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment, "it is not my place to ask."

He felt his heart flipped at the hurt, yet concerned, expression that crossed her features. He reached for her hand and kissed the palm, a warming gesture, sweet and simple. With an apologetic smile, he whispered, "I'm afraid I am not as good with words as I once was."

She nodded. "It is as though you don't know how to relate to others. There is a constant sense of awkwardness in every conversation."

He looked surprised as she described what he felt exactly. She shrugged and explained brusquely, "Loneliness feels the same for everyone."

His heart clenched at the thought that the sweet little girl he once knew was now this lonely maiden with no family. Silence enveloped them, the music of the circle had become slow, and by the lack of talking or laughing from the others he assumed they had paired off and were on to more sensual things.

He glanced at Senteehr again. She was staring off, biting her lower lip, forcing him to notice the tattooing on her chin; he made a note to ask why later. He always knew his little troll princess would turn into quite the beauty, but the simplicity of her beauty was what took his breath away. Nothing about her seemed vain. There was this sense of innocence, and indeed he realized, she was quite young even still. He didn't know what to say to ease her loneliness, but he thought he would try nonetheless and perhaps discover some comfort of his own.

Hesitantly, he leaned closer and kissed the corner of her lip, pulling back to watch the surprised look on her face.

"What was that for?" she asked softly, swallowing.

"I'm not sure," he whispered back. He could feel himself on the edge of his own darkness, threatening to consume him, and as though she saw it too, she leaned forward, brushing her own lips against the corner of his, but she didn't lean in fully. They trembled on the edge of chasing a kiss, each seeking out to comfort the other's heart.

Her breath on his lips made him close his eyes, the smell of the burning wood pushing him over. He placed a hand on her waist, and brushed his nose softly against her own, a simple gesture. "Sen," he breathed.

She pulled back though, unsure of herself, unsure of him. Slowly he brushed aside a few stray hairs, tucking them behind her ear, before letting his hand drift down to her cheek, lingering at each freckle, ending with her bottom lip that trembled ever so slightly.

It was then she noticed a thin white line marred across his collarbone where his tunic was unlaced. She paid him no attention as she traced the white line before quietly asking, "You got this on your mission, didn't you?"

He nodded mutely, closing his eyes as someone else looked at the angry marks that he had to live with. He had to swallow a gasp however when he felt her lips innocently press against the scar. She glanced back up at him, her brows knitted together in deep concern.

"Do you have more?" He regarded her carefully for a moment, looking for any motives but all he could sense was concern. He nodded again. "May I see them?"

He stared at his empty lap for a moment, unsure, before he hesitantly slid his tunic off. He had expected to see the same look he saw in many maiden conquests, their lips slightly parted, their eyes hazed with lust or approval, but he instantly realized that this was no maiden conquest- but a mere girl, who knew nothing of men and seduction. Instead, he merely saw curiosity and concern as she instantly went about finding each of his scars.

Her innocent touches were accepting, comforting. She traced each one before pressing a simple kiss as though it would heal the memory associated with the mark. She made him lay down, as she continued, and he decided being between the rich soil of the earth, and the pretty little maiden before him wasn't such a bad place.

"Did this one hurt?" she asked when she found a rather large scar shaped in a j below his rib on the left side. A memory of the horrible rage on his enemy's face before they lunged at him flashed in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he placed a hand over hers where she was currently tracing the ugly mark.

"I do not feel it anymore." He said softly.

She paused, and looked at him for a moment before whispering, "Then why do you relive it?" For a mere girl, as she seemed, she spoke with such clarity and wisdom. He nodded, to show that he understood her words, and as though it were routine, she pressed another kiss to the deep cut, yet lingered slightly longer than she had on the others. "Cyroth," she said softly, he felt his chest tighten at the use of his name, "if I could bear your pain, I would."

Her sweet confession touched him. He was surprised when she laid her head against his shoulder.

After a moment he felt it necessary to speak, "I would not have you bear the slightest pain if possible."

He could feel her smile against his chest. "Ah, always the protector. Tell me, my prince, who protects you?"

"Am I in need of protection?"

"Dire," came the quick response. "Even the strongest have weaknesses."

"Weaknesses?" he repeated slowly, "And what are my weaknesses?"

"We've established that you are lonely," she paused, "do you want to be my friend?"

Despite himself, he laughed. "I suppose it would be rude to say no?"

She shrugged against him. "I suppose it would be rude to say yes when you mean no."

He pulled her tighter against himself, "I'm afraid my awkwardness will turn you away."

"And my ignorance will be a turn off for you, surely." She sighed against him, her hand tracing a circle on his chest. He was surprised at how very different it felt compared to the vixen at the bon fire. Senteehr's pattern was nothing but loving and friendly, blissfully ignorant. "No suitors are willing to be patient with me, I'm afraid."

"Then they are not worth your attentions." He interjected softly. "A kind lover is always patient." He found himself running a hand through her hair, feeling a strange urge to keep her as pure as possible as long as he could. So much had been tainted through the wars, he had been tainted, but she seemed to embody all that was good to him. She symbolized why he fought, who he protected. He supposed in a way, she was his shy champion; his redeemer, from darkness to light. He kissed her brow and sighed, if only he could keep her unstained.

She pulled back, sensing the onslaught of emotions through the man. She used her arm to prop her head up; he adjusted to the same position so they lay side by side, facing each other.

"What worries you?" She asked when he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Sen, can I share something with you?" she nodded silently, he paused, as though he was choosing the right words, "I cannot stand what I have become."

He expected her to laugh, to disregard what he said as sentimental emotional drama. After all, isn't that what it was? But instead she had somber look and asked with genuine interest, "What have you become?"

"A murderer," he said softly, without hesitation. She softened and shook her head slowly.

"Nay," she sighed, "You are our protector, never a 'murderer'."

"I killed them." He said, disgusted with himself. And indeed he had killed, never once recalling the consequences as he went through the deadly motions.

"You did what you had to do." But he didn't seem to want to hear that. Frustrated she said more sternly, "Do not linger in your grief, Cyroth."

"I have changed, I don't know-" his words broke off, he took a deep breath, "I don't know if I am the same person."

She placed her hand on his cheek and smiled gently, "You have changed, my friend, but do not despair." She smiled sweetly, "I thought you were quite the arrogant boy before."

He laughed, thankful for her dry humor. "You were but a child," he pointed out. "Surely, you could not think such ill thoughts towards me."

"I don't know if it is possible." He felt himself swallow as she pulled her hand back from his face and smiled innocently at him. But at that moment she did not seem like a child to him. Nay, she was a beautiful young woman, with a heart made to fit his own. She had always had a special place in Cyroth's life; the little troll princess who captured his heart. But now he felt his loneliness fading, as though it were a distant nightmare, as long as she kept her smile fixed on him, as long as it kept near.

"Senteehr," he said slowly, "may I kiss you?"

"Why?" she asked, biting her lower lip as he leaned forward slightly. "I have never kissed anyone."

He smiled gently at the confession, inwardly thrilled that she had not been kissed before. "I don't think I've ever had a maiden ask why to such an offer. It will be a first for both of us."

She laughed softly, "I am not sure if it will be a good idea. I'm honest when I say I have not kissed anyone before."

And then the sense of protection he felt he understood with such clarity. It was the first thing he felt confident about since he returned. He wondered if she sensed it too, the great fate, the ironic twist between them. But with her knitted brows and sweet curious frown, he figured she did not allow herself to linger with such thoughts of possibilities.

With a gentle smile he said, "Nor will you kiss another..."

She titled her head, "What do you mean?"

He took her hand and kissed her palm, "I mean to court you."

"To court me," she repeated softly, her frown deepening, "as in for marriage? But I-"

"Sen," he placed a hand on her waist but sighed when she offered lamely, "Am I not too young for you?" He gave her an annoyed look.

Yet she brushed it off and tried again, "Is that a line you use to all the maidens you want to kiss?"

"Nay," he ran his thumb across her knuckles.

"Perhaps it was impulsive."

"Do you think me so low? I meant what I said; I'll wait for as along as it takes until you are convinced otherwise."

"Then it is well that you won't mind to wait until we're bound by ceremony before you may kiss me," she said smartly, proud she found a way to expose his ways of seduction. But Cyroth was yet to be fooled and merely shrugged.

"So be it."

"But that could last a year, Cyroth, I think you are being rash."

"I may have changed over the wars, but I've yet to loose my sense of reason." He thought for a moment, "Unless, you do not want me to court you?"

She smirked. "Perhaps..."

He smiled slowly, "I do happen to remember a shy little girl making a proposal to me in the stables before I left, have you retracted that offer?"

She placed a hand to her forehead and cringed. "I tried to forget! You were so sweet, what did you say again?"

"I believe I told you that you would always be the lady of my heart."

She smiled at the memory, "So much for remembering me when you returned."

"Forgive me I-"

She waved a hand in dismissal. "I understand that I look much different. I changed too, you know."

He glanced over her appealing curves, "Indeed."

"Cyroth," she said firmly, "why do you intend to play with my heart?"

"Senteehr," he breathed again, making her heart swell as the word slipped through his lips. "I wouldn't have your heart to play with, but I would ask for your heart all the same."

"Please stop." She pleaded.

"Forgive me for I cannot." He was confused at her distress; she had always held him in favor as a child, what changed?

But then he softened as he realized her fears were well founded. Of course, Sir Cyroth, the womanizer he once was. Why would she not think he was trying to use her? He felt his heart tighten as she chewed her bottom lip, looking completely unsure and bewildered. If she was his little princess years ago, then she deserved nothing less than a charming prince to sweep her off her feet.

He felt his heart lighten with the thought. Nightmares would come and go, but Sen would always be there, with her careful innocence and lovely smile. She would always be there to kiss his scars and listen to his fears until they faded.

Yes, he would have plenty of time to fill her chambers with flowers, to have adventures in the woods, to star gaze, to laugh and jest with. He looked forward to writing her the sweetest notes that even she, in her lovely purity, would blush.

"Senteehr," he said, feeling better than he had in months, "I think I will just have to woo you."

"Cyroth," she laughed sweetly, "I think you already have."


End file.
